


Out of the black

by erde



Series: From the ashes [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Gen, Past Relationship(s), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:58:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7338160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erde/pseuds/erde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>If he had known, he wouldn't have trusted Rogers so blindly. He wouldn't have begun to think he could understand his dad a little better just because he could finally see what a young Howard Stark had seen in Captain America.</i> </p><p>Tony doesn't want anything to do with Steve Rogers ever again, or so he tells himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He has bad days, marginally less bad days, and that's about it. Instants of madness when he feels like setting everything alight, and then quiet moments of clarity when he wishes he had never made it out alive of that cave. But why should he wish himself gone? He didn't do anything wrong. Rogers is the one who should have been kept on ice. He's an anomaly who doesn't belong in the future. He's deceit, no living legend but a man full of lies, a sham.

He tries to follow the grief handbook in hopes of speeding up the process, but Rogers has left little room for denial. Tony was wrong about him all along, and although something inside him rebels at the idea that all the paths led to betrayal, it must have been etched in stone. This is the kind of man that Rogers has always been, someone who was ready to pin him down and crush him at a moment's notice. All this time Rogers had it in him to take him out, and Tony had been none the wiser. This singular truth had always been there staring at Tony's face, even as Rogers spoke to him with what Tony now knew to be fake warmth, even as he smiled at something Tony had said just to humor the schmuck who paid for and designed everything, even as he told Tony he would miss him just to lead him astray.

Hindsight being 20/20, it's easy to replace each moment by the idea of Rogers looking at him straight in the eye and reveling in keeping the truth about his parents. His father came up in their conversations ad nauseam, but Rogers never thought fit to tell him. Rogers even had the gall to say that he was glad his father got married, and the thought that Rogers referred to his mom even in passing makes Tony see red. Of course that it was easy for him to keep a secret to make things easier for his buddy. The man was willing to kill him. Tony was nothing to him.

If Rogers was able to deceive him with such impunity, what else was he capable of? If only Tony had had an inkling, he could have been prepared. He would have known it was among the realm of likely scenarios to have Rogers come at him, shield in hand, and crush his chest. If he had known, he wouldn't have trusted Rogers so blindly. He wouldn't have begun to think he could understand his dad a little better just because he could finally see what a young Howard Stark had seen in Captain America. 

Tony clung to each tenuous link to his father with ferocity because that was all he had left. Even the discovery that Tony had been more than a nuisance in his life came to him through old footage instead of something as mundane as a single word of encouragement, and for all Tony knows, his father had enough time to change his mind about him ever since. He surely gave him that impression each time they exchanged words that stung like blows, and in the end Tony never had a chance to fix that. But learning to see Rogers through his father's eyes and holding a similar kind of regard for the guy seemed to be something they could share despite his father's absence. To know that would have made his mom happy.

"But you destroyed _even_ that, Rogers," Tony says, and his chest hurts with the echo of his imperfect alloy cracking before the strength of vibranium. His bruises have started to heal, but he keeps waking up in a cold sweat as if his body had forgotten that the arc reactor isn't what keeps him alive anymore. In dreams, it flickers off until the shrapnel begins to close in on his heart, and all that's left is a soaring pain that pierces him through. Rogers leaves him for dead then, and since it makes so little sense to leave anything valuable in the care of a corpse, he takes the shield with him.

It's not unusual for Tony to get up in the middle of the night to make sure the shield is still under his custody. Sometimes he wears his suit and fires his repulsor right at the center of the disc once and again, dodging each incoming beam until he feels he's under control of the situation. Some other times he just lets the blast hit him full force because pain engulfs his rage and lets him focus. Rhodey is about to be released from the hospital and Vision seems to have a bad case of the blues, no doubt a strange territory for a synthetic life form. 

Tony hasn't reached that stage yet—he seems stuck in a loop of anger that keeps him from being as empathetic as he could be, but he keeps Vision company whenever he can. They go through quite a few chess games with lukewarm interest, but it's better than nothing. Tony doesn't bring up Wanda and Vision doesn't mention Rogers, and they sit in agreeable silence all the while Tony wonders briefly if this is how JARVIS would have been like if he had been able to develop a crush.

Vision hums at Tony's moves, which in turn makes Tony crack a smile. "Too reckless?"

"Inspired on the Immortal Game, I take?" Vision asks, and it seems half polite, half tongue-in-cheek, and Tony does his best not to remember his old friend.

"Something like it," Tony says. The execution is not quite the same, and it almost seems like he's giving up each piece not as part of a well-crafted strategy but because he doesn't see another way out. It comes across as desperate rather than bold, which is a distinction that he doesn't really make these days. He simply makes sacrifice after sacrifice, hoping for the best even if the outcome is clear. Predictably, he doesn't win.

.

By the time of Rhodes' return, he becomes Tony's center of attention. The amount of meetings where his presence is required pile up, but he barely registers them. He lets FRIDAY take care of his schedule and then he simply runs on automatic, on industrial amounts of coffee that make up for the little sleep he gets each night, on sheer anger that powers him through all. He doesn't have Rhodey's strength of character, which makes him accept his new condition with a grace that makes Tony feel small.

Tony only has his anger, so he lets it color everything. Anger is a fire that consumes him but that also drives him forward. It scorches everything in its wake, it burns to a crisp what little feeling he has left over and over, the scabs don't form. It works very well for him, until it doesn't. That frankly insulting letter arrives to his door one day, and all the progress he had made gets shot to pieces. Rogers' timing is _that_ good.

He has nothing to bargain for, and he's not about to leave the comfort of anger, but knowing that the rest of the team is out of the Raft makes way for other kind of feelings that make his emotional landscape more complicated than he wants to. There's room for relief, even if he feels in his heart of hearts that they're a bunch of idiots he's better off without. But the fluctuations in his mood appear nonetheless. They don't even ask his opinion on the matter, they just show up and lay everything to waste.

He begins to keep track of them as he did back when palladium was what was killing him, hoping that if only he can measure them and approach them as he would do under an experiment, maybe they can't fully affect him. Emotions are nothing but chemistry. They're biological in nature, and the thought opens a world of possibilities. If Tony can tamper with deep-set memories, what prevents him from going deeper and dialing down pain until it feels less raw? But he knows he wouldn't know how to stop. One day it would be pain, and then the next it might be guilt, and what would he be left with? What if he strips himself of all the things that make him human and the only thing that's left is power without any kind of deterrent? He has done enough bad things to last a lifetime. The world doesn't need an Ultron copycat.

He could probably use medication. Therapy. FRIDAY could make an appointment for him in less than it would take him to get ready, but sadly he's a stubborn fuck who doesn't like to rely on anything outside of him, who only trusts what his own hands can create. Isn't that the reason why he refused to go to the hospital as soon as he returned from Afghanistan? Isn't that why he kept the arc reactor embedded in his chest for so long? He has issues trusting others, and for the most part, he hasn't been proven wrong.

"That's the difference between you and me, _Rogers,_ " Tony says, holding the letter until it's a sad, crumpled little ball in his palm. "You try walking in my shoes for a while and see how much faith in individuals you have left." Each word of that letter seems empty, meaningless. Each clichéd turn of phrase makes him livid. For an apology letter, this thing sucks. All the bullies of Rogers' childhood could probably think of better things to say in the notes their teachers forced them to write. It's just abysmal. There's exactly one _sorry_ followed by an incredibly patronizing _hopefully one day you can understand,_ and Tony doesn't know what exactly he's supposed to do with a flimsy piece of paper whose worth outweighs what's written on it.

How can he reconcile Rogers' promise of being there with the sight of his back as he walked away and left Tony on the ground without a care in the world? Actions speak louder than words, and the sound of his suit cracking under the edge of the shield _his_ father made seems so loud sometimes that not even screaming at the top of his lungs can drown it. He would hope that anything from that day haunts Rogers with the same tenacity, except that Tony doesn't really think he cares.

The phone seems another way to stick it up to Tony. It's an abomination of technology and it doesn't even covers Rogers' tracks all that well. And while he doesn't feel angry with T'Challa for giving them shelter—there's no place where they could be safer—he begrudges Rogers for being surrounded by highly advanced technology that he can't even fully appreciate.

He throws the clamshell on a box full of loose screws and bolts, and forgets about it. He surrenders himself to what Pepper used to call distractions and works on prototypes for Rhodey and gadgets for Peter, on a stronger case to protect his arc reactor and on plan B after plan B because the original plan had been to stick together as the old man said, but he can't count on that anymore.

.

The next stage catches up with Tony eventually. It clouds his senses for long enough that using BARF to rewrite history seems like a good idea, and since there's no one to stop him, he gives in. He chooses the low key get-together Ultron ended up crashing, only that this version is devoid of peacekeeping programs gone horribly wrong. There's only good cheer and a relaxed atmosphere up to the moment when the party begins to wind down. Everyone begins to scatter around the building at that point. 

Tony thinks he hears someone laughing from afar, and he ponders on the impossibility that it feels, even now, to come out of a party sober. Steve seeks him out then, and there's no clenching up nor bringing his hands in front of his face to protect himself. He feels safe, simply enjoying the calm before the storm, except that no bloodthirsty machines are scheduled to appear here. Right, there's just the two of them.

They talk about the battles Steve fought before he crashed into the Artic, and how simple life used to be back then. "There weren't even television sets on each household. You would've gone crazy," he says, and judging from the fond way he's looking at Tony, it's clear that this replica of Steve Rogers cares about him. The part of Tony that still keeps his memories intact feels dumbstruck.

"My dad managed," Tony says as scripted. It's the trigger that's going to make Rogers spill the truth, and although he has planned for it, he doesn't know how it's going to play out. There's only so much he can control, and just like dreams, memories are always shifting into something new.

"There's something you need to know," Steve says, and Tony braces for impact. Somehow, it's not easier. It's the same feeling of having the ground cave in under your feet as you learn that what used to be the foundation of your whole world is no longer there. He hears Steve say that his parents' death wasn't an accident, and he feels young again, lost and confused, pain coming to him in ripples until the tidal wave hits.

"HYDRA sent the Winter Soldier to murder them. It wasn't Bucky. If Bucky had been in control of his mind he would have never— Tony, I'm sorry."

Tony bristles, but he doesn't turn into a loose cannon, not here. He's only certain that he needs to know more, but he can't really press for details because he never heard them from Rogers, and the man who is in front of him knows as much as Tony does. BARF isn't a miracle worker. It can't read others' minds in the same way that Wanda Maximoff does, it can only attempt to bring some sort of closure.

But at the end of the day BARF is only a prototype, it's imperfect. Tony comes out of it feeling worse, because now he knows how differently things could have been if only Rogers had bothered to disclose information he had no business keeping to himself. And it shames him to long for that artificial kind of warmth, the soothing touch of a palm pressed against his back as he doubles over and clutches his head. It shames him to need Rogers even in some small measure while the opposite couldn't be further from the truth. All that Rogers needed was his best pal, so he must be overjoyed now that he has Barnes by his side. Apparently, that's what so-called living legends can get away with. Rogers can shit on the Accords and have his own happily ever after, all the while such a thing is unattainable for the likes of Tony Stark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But when Rhodey says that Tony knows what's right, he almost, almost believes him. He thinks of all the ways in which he looked at Rogers and found himself wanting, and he's no longer sure that he has any reason to feel that inadequate anymore._

" _Boss, priority call from Secretary Ross,_ " FRIDAY says first thing in the morning, and he just knows that it's going to be one of those days. He's proven right the moment that Ross begins to describe the problem, a threat of coordinated attacks on an assorted list of cities worldwide. Tony ignores the ill-disguised contempt on the man's voice and focuses on the facts as much as his pounding headache lets him. It's not a brand new plot, that much he can tell. The logistics needed to execute such a massive operation require months and months of preparation. Yet it's the perfect time. The Avengers are known to have disbanded—Ross made sure to air their dirty laundry for the whole world to see, so the vacuum of power encourages anarchy. It's the perfect environment for HYDRA wannabes to step on stage.

"Will you be able to take on all that on your own, _Stark?_ " 

"I'll get back to you," Tony says, hiding the smirk from his voice, because Ross has just given him an out and he doesn't even know it. The only thing that Tony needs now is someone to give him a shove in the right direction, because even if the idea is worth exploring, it doesn't change the fact that he's still pissed off and he can't trust himself to be the bigger man.

He finds Rhodey in the common area, eyeing him from behind a thick hardcover because he's slightly old-fashioned and bound to tradition in ways that Tony isn't. Tony doesn't even remember the last time he perused a book made out of authentic wood pulp.

"Tony?"

"Here's the thing," Tony says, and he resorts to pace around the room because he's weighing up his options, he's devising a plan of action, he's pushing through his headache through nothing but willpower. He's a fucking bouncy ball right now, he can't remain still, and he hasn't even had his coffee fix yet. "Ross called. Terror threats on several major cities. Spiderling can remain in New York, but what do we do about the rest? Saying that we're understaffed would be the understatement of the year, so I'm here thinking."

"We might not be able to handle everything on our own, but the team could," Rhodey says, and it's nothing short of wonderful to have someone read him correctly for a change. He lucked out with Rhodes, truly. He's thankful every day.

"That would be my pitch. And it's possible. It's a time that calls for extraordinary measures, special acts, and exceptions. A time to look the other way for the greater good. Ross would be against it, but fuck him. We'd just go over his head and force his hand."

Rhodey closes his book and looks at him in the eye. "Do you really think it can work?"

"It _must_ work. Just imagine that we manage on our own, which I think we can. Barely, but we can. But the second we do that, Richard Kimble and his merry friends become irrelevant. They never get to come home. Where's their story of redemption? They would have none."

"Wouldn't they think it's a trap, though? They are a stubborn bunch and I doubt any of them are willing to trust you after what happened. You said they blamed you."

_On second thought, just screw them,_ Tony wants to say. He won't, but the temptation is there. They're churlish brats, the whole lot of them. They're such a headache. "True, they wouldn't come just because I ask them to. But T'Challa could vouch for me and convince them that the threat is authentic. And knowing Rogers, he'll want to get involved even if the Accords still hang over his head. He senses trouble like sharks smell blood, and when that happens he just can't ignore the call of those in need. The others will follow suit."

"You have given this a lot of thought."

"Just while I walked from the lab to here," Tony says with a smile, pointing at himself. "Genius, remember?"

Rhodey rolls his eyes. "Will you do it?"

"That's where you come, platypus. Because you see, I need you to tell me that this is the right thing to do. Make that call for me, would you? Every time I think of having to face Rogers, I feel like I'm going to throw up. My throat feels like it's filled with rusty nails. I can't bring myself to contact him. But you can tell me what to do, buddy. Just say the word and I'll gladly do it. You're the best of us. You have the kind of common sense that I lack and better judgment than me by far. I trust you that way." He's getting all mushy, but it's Rhodey, so it's okay.

"Come here," Rhodey says, and Tony sits on the couch by his side. Rhodey looks at him, wraps an arm around his shoulders, and says, "You give yourself too little credit.

"Is that all you're going to say? Because I just said really nice things about you. One would think a little reciprocity—"

"I'm _getting_ there."

Tony raises his eyebrows. "Okay, fine, I'm all ears."

"You already know what's right. If you didn't care about them, you wouldn't bother. There's no shame in wanting them back. They're like family, aren't they?"

"Whoa, stop right there. Stop before you say something ridiculous like there's no shame in love, or something to that—"

"No shame in love!" Rhodey says, poking fun at him. 

Tony covers his ears. "I can't hear you!"

They have a good laugh about it. It's almost like old times, before things got so terribly complicated. Tony always figured that he was brilliant enough to leave his mark on the world one way or another, but he never fathomed that he would actually have to go and _save_ the world more than once. It sounds crazy when he says it. Even now, he doesn't feel like he's the hero type. It just isn't who he is. It's what the people of Earth have to put up with, which is a whole different thing. Tough luck, right? Beggars can't be choosers.

But when Rhodey says that Tony knows what's right, he almost, almost believes him. He thinks of all the ways in which he looked at Rogers and found himself wanting, and he's no longer sure that he has any reason to feel _that_ inadequate anymore.

.

Tony knows that the first thing he needs to do is to find Natasha, except that it's not an easy task. Well, no shit, she's good at what she does. But T'Challa has the case against her dropped, which is easy enough to do if you compare it to the ordeal that's going to be trying to get the runaway brats back.

Once everything is taken care of, he doesn't have to wait long until Natasha resurfaces from her life underground. In fact, only a couple of days go by until she hops into his car as he's waiting in traffic. He was sure that the doors were locked, but hey, it happens. "Well, hello. You missed me, I take?"

"Rumor has it that I've been cleared. How?"

She must already know the answer, but if she wants to hear it from Tony, fine, he can indulge her. "T'Challa is very persuasive. But, basically, you made a call and prioritized world security over a warrant for arrest. They might have been dead when we found them, but the Winter Soldier Dream Team was a real threat up to that point."

"And now?"

"We would be so glad to have you back. Trouble is brewing and we have little time," Tony says without looking away from the road.

"Isn't that always how it is?" Natasha says with a fond little smile, the kind that through and through war veterans get when they think of their past exploits. Not all veterans, clearly, but some. "And I didn't say I was coming back."

"You wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case, though. Am I wrong?"

"On a regular basis," she retorts, clearly enjoying this. Well, he can't say he isn't enjoying it too, despite the jab at his expense. 

" _Very_ funny."

"Not always, though."

Tony raises an eyebrow at that. It's a small concession, and he wishes that things could have been this simple with Rogers. A give and take instead of Tony pleading with him, unearthing artifacts from a bygone era with the sole purpose of appealing to the part of Rogers that was still stuck in the 40's, which was most of him, actually. Rogers could swear all he wanted that the guy who came out of the ice was different from the one who went in, but he was only lying to himself. You only had to see the way he clung to Barnes to know that he desperately wanted to go back in time, and he was willing to screw anybody over if that's what it took to make his wish come true.

"Listen, Nat, I'm sorry. I said things I shouldn't have," Tony says, letting go of the death grip he had on the steering wheel. "Friends?"

Natasha rolls her eyes, but she relaxes into her seat with an amused expression on her face. "Are we going back to the compound?"

"Uh-huh," he says. They're leaving the city behind, and although he prefers the white noise of busy urban life over the silence of the countryside, he feels like there are less eyes on them now. It's not paranoia, it's the knowledge that he has to watch his back at all times.

"So you're planning to bring them back," Natasha whispers, and he comes very close to slamming on the brakes. 

"I really hope that's your sixth sense talking and not something you read out there, because if it is, we're screwed. If Ross finds out about it before time—"

"Relax, it was a hunch. It all points in that direction."

"Well, you know, the timing is right. We're going to have to work hard, Miss Rushman. I could use your legal expertise. I'm an overachiever, as you may know, so let's go big or let's go home," he says, speeding up right on cue.

"I'm listening," Natasha says, her eyes bright in the afternoon's soft light. She's really enjoying herself.

"I want them back under the pretense that we can't make it on our own, even if it's not so much a pretense. I think provisions could be appended given the pressing nature of the threats, and I want that to be an excuse to revise all the things that are problematic with the Accords. I have some notes ready. We probably won't get them to change even one percent of the text, but let's shoot for the stars here. The document hasn't been ratified in a single national parliament yet—"

"And what are you going to do about Ross?"

"The Raft is a massive bargaining chip. The UN would look so bad on that, don't you think? I was there. FRIDAY has footage from the cells, clear evidence of human rights violations, a high-definition clip of the whole structure as it emerges from the ocean, the whole she-bang."

"You're playing with fire, Tony," Natasha says, but her tone is not dramatic like Rhodey's might have been. She's simply stating the facts.

"Do I look like I care?"

Natasha smiles. "Certainly not."

"I thought so. We have T'Challa on our side, and although he claims to dislike diplomacy, His Highness is a shrewd fellow. His father would be proud," Tony says, and a faint, distant ache manages to make its way into his heart, but he doesn't let it linger. "There's something else I want you to do. When they come back, and I'm sure they will, I need you to coordinate everything."

"Why?" There's a crease on her brow, and Tony adds points to his score for managing to surprise someone like her.

"Because I doubt they'll trust me, and I have trust issues myself. Rogers and I are not in good terms at all. Do I have to tell you why or can I assume that you already know?"

"You don't have to tell me."

"So you know. You _knew,_ " Tony says, and he tries to keep his voice under control. They're doing wonderfully right now, and he can't afford to lose her again.

"It wasn't my secret to tell," Natasha says, and well, she's right.

"I'm angry with him. I think I have that right."

"I'm not saying you don't, but have you considered that perhaps he did it to—" She has a soft spot for Rogers, but Tony doesn't hold that against her. Tony also used to have one.

"Oh, just _don't._ I got a letter penned by Captain America himself saying that he did it for his own convenience, and before you say you don't believe he's capable of that, that's what I got out of it."

"I'm sorry," Natasha says without adding anything else, and Tony wishes Rogers could hear that. That's how apologies are made. You say you're fucking sorry and then you keep your trap shut without trying to explain all the ways in which you think you aren't wrong in the first place.

"Well, yeah. And I think I'm doing enough for them as it is, so let me be angry if I want to. I think I've earned it."

"Be my guest," Natasha says.

"Don't mind if I do."

They remain quiet for a long while after that, but it's not uncomfortable. He puts on some music and she doesn't even bat an eye at his track selection. It's exactly what can be expected of him, because unlike _some_ people, he's easy to read to the point of being brazen. He's not a stupid _popsicle._ He wears his heart on his _fucking_ sleeve.

Even though it's growing darker outside, the silhouette of the compound can still be made out in the distance. "I think they will still be held accountable despite our best efforts, but once they're home everything will be easier. I can afford the best lawyers there are and— What is it?" Tony asks the moment he notices Natasha staring at him.

"I was thinking that all of us could use a second chance." Her hands are resting on her legs, palms facing up as if she were trying to make sure that they are truly clean. Blood doesn't wash easily, perhaps. He should know.

"If you're going to bring up Rogers again—" Tony starts, a warning edge to his voice.

"I'm not talking about Steve."

Tony relaxes slightly at that, but only a little. "Then?"

"Recruitment assessment for the Avengers Initiative. In spite of his compulsive behavior, self-destructive tendencies, and textbook narcissism," Natasha says, her eyes fixed on the horizon, "Tony Stark, yes."

"Gee, thanks, I suppose? Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Don't make me regret it," Natasha says, a smirk toying on the corners of her mouth.

Tony smiles without really meaning to. "Oh, shut up. You _still_ can't afford me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Doing the right thing. God, it's so hard and he's so tired. He's fed up with trying to do good and receiving nothing but blows in exchange as if he were Fate's favorite punching bag._

There are epistolary exchanges worthy of becoming full-fledged novels, there are sorry little examples of tone-deaf thoughtlessness such as Rogers' letter, and then there are brilliant pieces of satire such as his own reply in the form of a revised version of the Accords. 

"How is that supposed to convince him?" Natasha asks, staring at the document projected on the screen.

"Don't let its appearance deceive you," Tony says, willing to concede that the way the red digital ink bleeds over the original typography doesn't make for a good first impression. "It's well-phrased. It's eloquent. I make a wealth of excellent points in there." 

He also calls Rogers so many names from beginning to end that considering it something other than hate mail seems dishonest, but he needed the catharsis. "FRIDAY, blur all the personal references to Captain Rogers, would you?"

" _I'm on it, boss,_ " FRIDAY says.

"T'Challa has a _redacted_ copy. Spider-Kid has one as well. In fact, expect a call from him, but don't keep him too long because he has _homework,_ " Tony says, rolling his eyes. "He's a chatterbox too, so keep him focused."

"Do we have to parent him now?" Rhodey says from the doorway just as Vision and him arrive to the meeting room.

"Come on, I know you love having mentees. You're welcome, by the way," Tony says, and Rhodey smiles warmly. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I'm going to have a busy day trying to convince a bunch of fools that I'm right and I don't have a good record at it, as you may know. Remember, kids, we need to move fast."

"Tony," Rhodey whispers just as Tony walks past the door. They leave the room for a while, and then he says, "Pepper has been asking about you."

Tony tries to ignore the way his heart plummets. "This is not the right moment, Rhodes. If you must, you can tell her I'm fine as always."

"Why don't you tell her yourself?"

"I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciate the sentiment, but she's not coming back," Tony says, and the admission pains him. He wishes it wasn't like that, but he can't give her what she wants and she can't make herself so small that all of her worries and concerns stop mattering the moment they are weighed against his priorities. She's not cut out to be a Stepford girlfriend. He would hate himself even more if he had turned her into that, even in the slightest. "She's just reaching out of some sense of misplaced guilt. She's just sorry that her timing was off. She's not coming back and I can't talk to her just to have her leave again. I can't afford that right now."

Rhodey rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes lightly. "I'm sorry."

"Buddy, don't look at me with that sad platypus look of yours. You're killing me," Tony says, which makes Rhodey pull a face, and that clears the air enough for him to feel like he can breathe again.

"Well, then, go break a leg. And you better hurry up, since I highly doubt His Highness will appreciate you arriving three hours late, even if it's your own plane."

"You're never letting go of that one, are you?"

"Never!"

He watches Rhodey go inside and gives a few steps backwards, just making sure that they remain within the confines of the meeting room. Once he's fully sure that he's out of hearing range, Tony says, "FRIDAY?"

" _Yes, boss?_ "

"Has Miss Potts been calling me?" His pace is brisk, no need to linger on the past nor dwell on anything, really.

" _Yes, she has. But you said you wanted each of her calls blocked and you didn't want me to inform you about it._ "

"Good girl," Tony says, tapping his fingertips against the frame of his glasses. It's the closest there is to patting FRIDAY's head. "You keep doing that. And block any call from my side in case I feel like drunk dialing her one of these days."

" _Well thought. The_ things _you see online,_ " FRIDAY says with a disapproving tone to her voice. It makes Tony smirk.

"And if I do try, there's no need to remind me of that the next day."

There's a pause, and then a slightly resigned, " _I'll do my best, boss._ "

He's taking away one of her life's pleasures, he knows. His Girl Friday loves to tell him _I told you so._

.

"Is there a reason why you have chosen not to let them know yet?"

"Too many to count," Tony says at once, drumming his fingers against the seat. There's something about the way T'Challa is looking at him that makes him feel exposed. It must be all that vibranium within easy reach of his kingly hands. "I don't want them to get their hopes up when we still don't know whether it will work out or not, otherwise they'll think I'm dangling a carrot in front of them just for kicks. That's one reason. Also, the moment that Rogers learns about the threats, you won't be able to stop him."

T'Challa raises an elegant eyebrow at that.

"You know what I mean. He'll die trying to cross the Wakandan jungle on his way to save the world if he must, because that's who he is, an insufferable bonehead whom you can't easily reason with. And I'm trying to be objective, here. He betrayed me, not the world, I _guess._ Actually, let's not talk about it or I'll start to have second thoughts about the whole deal."

"He has expressed regret," T'Challa says, his eyes fully on him.

"He's just homesick," Tony retorts, and the anger comes back as pressure building inside his chest. His fingers are curling on the border of his seat like a bird's claw, but he flexes them before T'Challa takes notice. "And whatever regret he feels must be a drop in the ocean in light of his utter joy. I imagine he's frolicking with Barnes on his spare time, something he must have heaps of right now."

"James Barnes requested to be placed into cryogenic sleep," T'Challa says, and the words become ice running down Tony's spine.

"He _what?_ "

"He said he couldn't trust his own mind, so it was preferable for him to be cryopreserved until a cure is found. I believe him to be a victim of circumstances—"

Tony can't help a snicker, which is clearly not to the taste of the Dora Milaje standing guard by the cabin's door. "You wanted to _kill_ him before."

"Before I knew he wasn't responsible," T'Challa corrects him. 

"And what if he _had_ been the one who set that bomb? Pretend for a moment that Zemo whispered sweet nothings in his ear and made him do it. What would _you_ have done then, Your Highness?" Tony asks, and he can almost taste the venom on his words. His heart is beating so wildly against his ribcage that it's a wonder no one else can hear it.

T'Challa closes his eyes for a moment and interlaces his fingers. "I don't pretend to lecture you. I don't possess my father's wisdom."

Tony lets out a shuddering breath. He's been so focused on his anger at Rogers that he hasn't had the time to properly separate the two of them. Barnes feels like an extension of Rogers—Tony can't tell where one begins and the other ends. If he closes his eyes all he can see is two super soldiers bent on destroying him, one intent on ripping his heart out, the other set on crushing it under his might. And his mom. _God,_ his mom. He remembers Barnes' hand around her neck and then everything feels justified, every punch, every kick. Every breath he took had a single purpose, to obliterate Barnes and crush him like a bug.

But.

He doesn't want _that_ to be his last memory of his mother. She was worth far more than that. She was more than Howard Stark's wife, more than Tony's mother. She was a beautiful human being. She was wicked smart, exceptionally nice, and graceful to boot. She was nothing but warmth, and it feels _wrong_ somehow to think of her with a heart so full of hate. And so she makes way for better things as she always did, because if there's a silver lining in the fact that Rogers didn't let him kill Barnes, it is that for all the blood that's on Tony's hands, none of it was spilled in her name.

"Well, _how_ does it work?" Tony asks, and at this point he isn't sure where he's going with this. But if he's going to let some of this go before it destroys him, he must understand the mechanism behind it first. "What makes it so easy to say hocus pocus and have him become a killing machine at the beck and call of HYDRA?"

"The original premise was that his memories were wiped each time they required his skill for an _assignment,_ " T'Challa says, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.

"But they _had_ to be suppressed instead, else he would have never remembered his best bud Rogers. And it would have been terribly inconvenient and time-consuming to deal with a tabula rasa every single time they needed him to run an errand, so whatever they did to Barnes, they did it so that it stayed with him for good."

"Indeed. As far as we have been able to establish, the reason why this particular set of words never fails to work is that each one of them is intrinsically linked to his memories as James Barnes, not as the Winter Soldier."

" _Assholes,_ " Tony hisses, and the fact that he seems to be angry on _Barnes'_ behalf takes him aback. He has enough anger to spare, maybe. But deep down, Tony knows there's more to it. It's just easy to imagine the anguish of knowing that the very essence of who you are has been twisted for others' gains. After all, Zemo took his love for his mother and turned it into a weapon, and it didn't even take brainwashing nor something out of this world such as Loki's scepter, just cunning. What would it actually feel to be completely stripped of free will?

"Science has advanced tenfold during this century," T'Challa says, looking through the window. "Artificial intelligence is a reality that governments and individuals alike must grapple with, yet the human brain remains an uncharted territory even in this day and age."

"Organic matter, pretty unreliable," Tony says with a sigh. "We're all meatbags."

"I guess you would see it that way."

"I'm not the one who has a vibranium suit, Your Highness."

T'Challa smiles at that and it comes out picture-perfect. _Royals._

After the exchange, Tony lies back against his seat, feeling exhausted. Doing what's right is incredibly hard, and he wishes Rhodey were here to encourage him because he's a deeply flawed human being and he needs some kind of reward. And sure, with great power and all that jazz, and he did start all of this willingly the moment he donned the Mark III, so he has no option but to carry on. Doing the right thing. God, it's so hard and he's so tired. He's fed up with trying to do good and receiving nothing but blows in exchange as if he were Fate's favorite punching bag.

Hell, he feels like he's going to throw up again, and BARF's side effects should be a thing of the past for now. He doesn't want to do it, but he must speak now before anger and spite can take hold of him again, so he springs to his feet and blurts, "I have a prototype. An expensive little toy. Its purpose is to clear traumatic memories. I don't think it works that well. It's rough. But maybe Wakandan scientists can improve it. Maybe it can help. Maybe it doesn't."

It's out there before he can regret it, which he does. Fuck Barnes. There's a part of Tony that still rebels against the thought of helping him at all, even if it's the noble thing to do. It's a part that dwells in darkness and imagines how easy it would have been to bash in Barnes' skull and have Rogers watch so that he _gets,_ finally, what it feels like to lose a loved one in the same way that Tony lost his parents. An eye for an eye. Tony tries not to think about it. He tries really hard, but he's not a saint. If only Rogers had told him about it before. Didn't he deserve that, at least? Didn't he deserve to find out about it somewhere _safe,_ without having to face the man who murdered his parents? Well, maybe Tony didn't deserve shit. It seems like Rogers would agree.

"We will be glad to look into it," T'Challa says, looking pleased.

"It also has hideous side effects," Tony says with a smile. He's halfway down the aisle when he says this, because he really needs to close himself in the bathroom for a while, away from everything. "Ah, and don't tell Rogers. I want the privilege of rubbing his nose in it in case it helps even a little."

.

Starting from that point onwards, Tony doesn't get a moment's rest. Neither of them does. T'Challa and him get a few sensible heads of government on their side thanks to their little tour, after which T'Challa keeps the high-level talks going. Natasha analyses the intel they get about the threats, Vision oversees logistics. Rhodey and him take care of reversing their bad press as much as they can, just keeping the ball rolling so that public sentiment matches possible changes at the top.

"I feel bad for putting you through this," Tony tells Rhodey one day. "It feels like I'm using you, and it doesn't sit well with me."

"These are very real consequences," Rhodey says, placing his palms on his knees. "The fact that I continue believing in this initiative makes all the difference for some people, I guess. Not for everybody, certainly, but—"

"Of course they find you trustworthy, honeybear. You have a much better reputation than me."

"Well, I _do,_ " Rhodey says, and both of them end up chuckling. "Don't feel bad, Tony. I'm doing this because I want to, remember? I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do."

Tony purses his lips not to smile. "Okay, I believe you. I have an interview at five. How do I look?"

" _Terrible._ Tell them to use all the foundation they can get their hands on. I mean, look at those bags under your eyes. It makes me sad to look at you."

"Go to hell," Tony says, but the warmth on his voice is unmistakable.

In addition to hearings and informal talks, he ends up on so many news outlets. His face is everywhere. The sets' lights make him feel dazed sometimes, and from time to time his left arm starts to go numb in the middle of an interview, but he keeps going. If he could give a lecture on integrated circuits while drunk, he can certainly do all of this sober. In fact, he doesn't drink a single drop. He doesn't have the time.

He's charming when needed, he swallows his pride most of the times. Now it's clear that in the event of a violation of the Accords, the proceedings must always follow due process without exemptions, which should have been obvious from the start, but there you go. That means that the fugitives still have some serious explaining to do, but at least the Raft is now a thing of the past. Ross loses his shit, which is a wonderful thing to see.

Their joint effort works to some extent. Even if they have more input on the decision-making process going forward, there are still limitations on what they can do, which was kind of the whole point about the Accords, so he's cool with that. Rogers wouldn't be, though. Rogers would break out in hives at the sole mention of the word _supervision_ on account of his being a lawless son of a bitch, but screw him. If only he hadn't thrown a massive tantrum and stayed put, they could have reaped the benefits of presenting a united front.

"Temporary amnesty," Natasha says just as he's about to land nose first into his salad. He doesn't even remember what sleep is supposed to feel like anymore. "It's the best they are willing to offer."

Tony blinks blearily at the document she slides in front of him and flicks through the pages. "You think they might be more generous if the mission is successful?"

"No," she says, and then, after considering the odds, "Who knows. If they do, I'm sure it would be conditional on the signatures of the rest of the team."

" _Tracking implants,_ " Tony reads, exploding in laughter. A lot of things seem funny when you're running on little sleep. "Who thought of this, some guy named Orwell?"

"That was _scrapped,_ luckily."

"Yes, I can see that, but just imagine Rogers' face upon reading this. _God,_ my sides," Tony says, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye. "Am I to suppose that this offer is only valid for 24 hours or something?"

"We don't have much time to begin with. And it would be far too easy to miss our window of opportunity to get them back," Natasha says, her lips pursed into a straight line. "Arrests have been made in connection to the threats, but as soon as that happens—"

"—new cells pop up."

Natasha nods. "It's HYDRA's modus operandi through and through."

"It doesn't even matter if they're the real deal or not, does it? We've got to nip this in the bud. Alright, so we say yes to this," Tony says, taking the document between his fingers and then letting out a big sigh right afterwards because he knows what the next step is and he doesn't like it one bit.

"Tony, contact him. It's time."

"Yeah, I know, I know," Tony says, eating a forkful of croutons and almonds before he leaves the rest untouched. "You don't have to tell me twice."

.

Tony wishes he was being facetious when he said the idea of reaching out to Rogers made him sick to his stomach, but it was true. He knows they're running out of time for everything, for getting them back home, for stopping this one plot, and for making preparations to deal with the endgame, but surely he can spare a few minutes to steel himself. He breathes in and out, tries to picture a stream of water easing gently into a bucolic retreat, each element painstakingly crafted as if he were designing the features of a virtual reality landscape from scratch. It doesn't help any.

He goes through different iterations of the same message, cold and righteous, fiery and scathing, neutral and to the point. He wants to ask Rogers _why,_ even now. He wants to tell him, _No, fuck you and your halfhearted apologies. Don't you ever think of coming back._ But ultimately, this is not about the two of them, is it? If it were, Tony would be perfectly fine not seeing Rogers' stupidly arrogant mug ever again. He would banish him from the grounds if he could. But he has to do this. As long as Rogers knows that they're not going to hold hands and sing Kumbaya when he comes back, it's fine.

"All of you are needed, so get off your ass and talk to T'Challa," he types into the horribly outdated piece of junk that is that phone—which suits Rogers perfectly, now that he thinks about it—and presses send.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They all look a little worse for wear, except Rogers, who looks so fucking unflappable that it makes Tony want to scream._

"Well, I guess we can't exactly keep this forever. _If_ he's to come back," Tony says, holding the shield in his hands. His heart starts to beat faster upon feeling the metal's cold touch, but he squeezes tighter until the edge leaves a mark on his palms. This might not be Rogers' shield, but it isn't Tony's either, is it? In fact, he's almost sure that his dad would have still wanted Rogers to have it now, even if he had _known._ Golden boy Rogers can do no wrong.

" _Were you thinking of keeping it?_ "

"The Smithsonian would have loved to have it as part of their collection. Sadly, it was not to be. He'll _need_ it," Tony says, and although he tries to phrase it as Rogers being otherwise inept, it comes out wrong. It almost sounds like Tony is _worried_ about him, which is frankly ridiculous. It's just that Rogers is of no use to anyone being dead, that's all. "FRIDAY, polish that thing. Give it a fresh coat of paint, whatever it takes to make it look as if I didn't take it with me on target practice day repeatedly."

" _Will do, boss._ " 

"Good," Tony says, because he wants Rogers to know it's impersonal, even if it isn't. He wants him to be aware that Tony hasn't spared a thought his way, even if it's a lie. He wants him to believe that he's nothing to Tony, even if he carries that betrayal as close to his heart as shrapnel used to be. It's clear now that Tony should have never let him in, but how is this his fault? Rogers let him thought they were friends. He said they would face everything together. He told Tony he would miss him. Tony might have been naïve, but it's not like he was seeing things that weren't there. Rogers is the one who should have never said any of that if he didn't mean it.

.

"If it doesn't matter who goes where, maybe send him to London," Tony says, which earns him a curious look from Natasha. "What? It's not about his attachments. His French is not as good as he thinks it is."

" _Right._ "

It's bullshit and both of them know it, but at least Natasha is gracious enough not to comment further on it, and Tony pretends there's nothing to be read between the lines of what he just said.

"It's also not mainland Europe, where most of the shit show happened. I know for a fact that they aren't as cozy with Ross as he would have you believe, so while they would keep an eye on Rogers, they wouldn't make things _harder_ than they should be. Maybe some people over there still remember with fondness Rogers' contribution to winning the war, I don't know. T'Challa had the impression, at the very least. I wasn't paying attention. Certainly, there are other places that are more antagonistic towards Ross and his stint at the Department of State, but they would also oppose Captain _America_ on principle, so. London makes sense, not that I particularly care," he says, even though he doesn't sound all that convincing.

It's the thing with feelings—they tend to leave glitches behind. He wishes they were easy to excise as soon as someone wrongs you, but they resemble a phantom limb well after the fact. And even if you could remove them with surgical precision, it would be difficult to reprogram your body until it learns to deal effectively with the absence. It takes time. And this, well, this is a slip-up, nothing but residue from the time he used to consider Rogers a friend.

But erasing all of that from his mind is long overdue. He must put behind all the times he wondered how to make Rogers feel at home in an era that wasn't his own. He must forget how he had JARVIS scour the web for first edition books on sale because he thought Rogers might want to take a break from researching on public libraries, and how he had pointed him in the direction of sci-fi titles that had gotten the future absurdly wrong, just to let Rogers know he wasn't the only one out of sync with the times. And he must stop thinking about how he almost made it in time for Peggy Carter's funeral. Looking back, he's almost glad he didn't make it. It would have made absolutely no difference to Rogers, and Tony could always say his goodbyes later.

"If you do send him to London, I'm calling dibs on Sydney," Tony says, because sure, that sounds like a plan. Let him put vast swathes of land and sea between the two of them, and maybe, just maybe, they won't end up fighting each other again.

"Steve said he sent you several messages after you contacted him. Did you read any of them?"

"Really? Well, too bad that the clamshell became self-aware, suffered under the weight of its own anachronism, and self-destructed out of shame."

"You can't avoid him forever, Tony," Natasha says, and she's right about that, but he's not ready to face him. He started to orchestrate their return while knowing that his stomach would turn at the sight of Rogers, but he still went ahead because they had bigger concerns. And now that getting them back is almost a given, he feels entitled to being as childish and petty as he wants.

"I can do my very best, though. For starters, I can fly and he can't," Tony says, clicking his tongue. "What is he going to do about it, borrow Falcon's wings and chase me with a stick until I give him back his shield? Which I'm going to do, by the way, so don't look at me like that."

"And what if you need to talk to him about work?"

"What, am I going to have to talk to Rogers? You're calling the shots here, Romanoff. I thought the least you could do was to _spare_ me," Tony says, a hand pressed against his chest in a display of histrionics. 

"I'm serious." Natasha is starting to look as his last nanny did whenever he was in full-blown button-pushing mode. He was 14 years old, for crying out loud. He didn't need a nanny then, and he certainly doesn't need one now.

"And I'm a professional," Tony says with a smirk. "FRIDAY will be the middleman if I ever need to discuss anything with him, that is, _never._ "

"I worry that you're going to make yourself look like a jerk in front of them when there's clear evidence to the contrary. Your nonstop defense of the team, the very public work of the Stark Relief Foundation and the September Foundation—"

"Both foundations exist independently of our little campaign to bring them back, Nat. It's been that way before and it's going to continue being that way. If they have seen their funds increased, it's only because the beneficiaries deserve a shot at the kind of life that our ever-increasing screw-ups have prevented them from living. It's the same with the September Foundation. We need bright young people doing good things to even out all the shit."

"We've got red on our ledgers, I understand that. Sometimes it seems like it will never go away. All I'm saying is that the rest of the team would trust you sooner if they knew all the things you have been doing since they left," Natasha says, but to be honest, Tony highly doubts they would care. It's simply much more satisfying to point at him and list all of his failures. If something goes wrong, their first impulse won't be to ask what happened, but what did Stark fuck up this time. That's how it goes.

"It's not like they're in the middle of nowhere. They are in Wakanda of all places. Their broadband access must be faster than anything we have available here, so they can look things up. Besides, they thought I was a jerk even as I was trying my best to save their asses. I'm used to that. I don't care about being in their good graces. I doubt I could be, even if I tried, and I'm done trying too hard, you see," Tony says, trying to be earnest for once. "I'll meet them, let them have their scorn fest if that's what they want, return the shield, and then I'll be off to whatever post you assign me to, preferably thousands of miles away from Rogers. I know you want things to be as they used to, but don't ask more from me."

Natasha lets out a sigh and nods, finally giving in. "I won't."

" _Thank you,_ " Tony says, and his mocking tone returns with ease. "Was that _so_ hard?"

.

The day arrives before he expects it. He's there when they get off the plane, and he's never been more thankful for the fact that his faceplate conceals all the emotions that must be flashing on his face. 

" _Boss, your vitals—_ "

"Not now, FRIDAY," Tony says, because he's keenly aware of how his heart feels like it wants to break free from his ribcage. They all look a little worse for wear, except Rogers, who looks so fucking unflappable that it makes Tony want to scream. He would say it's the serum, except that he's sure that Rogers had a good night's sleep every single day, not a single worry clouding his mind other than the fate of his best friend forever Barnes. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he even dares to stare at Tony as though he could see him bare.

" _Welcome,_ " Tony says, his voice dripping sarcasm, and although he intended to behave, he guesses he can't help himself. "You're all my personal responsibility now, so kindly try not to fuck things up just to stick it up to me."

"We expect an apology first," Barton says next, and it takes all of his self-control not to knock him to the ground. There's nothing to be gained from re-enacting Leipzig, after all.

"Clint, don't," Natasha says.

"I thought all of you were in the business of working towards the greater good first and foremost. But well, if you insist, here it comes, wait for it. I'm _sorry_ you feel that way," Tony says, and before Barton can reply, Rogers puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. "You have 24 hours to see your families before you get to work."

"How _generous_ of you," Barton retorts.

"Really?" Lang says, no doubt brightening up at the idea of meeting his daughter again. Tony had enough time to look up his background, and try as he might, he couldn't understand how a sweet little girl could have someone like Lang as a father. At least her dad seemed to have his heart mostly in the right place even if he was a moron, so she had that going on for her.

"Yeah, it's not your kids' fault that their fathers are idiots," Tony says, turning to look at Barton in the eye. "Natasha will brief you back at the compound."

"Hey, aren't you going to read us our rights?" Barton hollers, but his voice gets drowned the moment Rogers steps in front of him.

"Tony," Rogers says, his deadpan expression faltering for an instant, and Tony can't tell exactly what's that supposed to mean. How could he? If he had been able to read Rogers correctly, he would have known he was bullshitting him since day one.

"Right, I was forgetting," Tony says, cutting him off because it's not the time nor the place for them to talk, and it's never going to be because Tony isn't going to give him the satisfaction. Instead, he throws the shield to the ground, where it falls with a horrible clang. It turns out to be more dramatic than he had expected because all eyes are on him at once. They must be thinking he's a huge asshole right now, but he doesn't care. "You still don't deserve it, but there."

"Tony," Rogers says again, looking at Tony as if he couldn't tear his eyes away from him. The shield is still on the ground, which makes Tony feel more angry than before, if that's even possible. First, he nonchalantly retrieved it from Tony's _crushed_ chest plate without sparing a look his way, then flung it as if it were a piece of trash he didn't _need_ anyway, and now he adds insult to injury by letting it lie there as if he were waiting for Tony to pick it up and hand it back to him _properly._ What the _fuck_ is wrong with this man?

"You're still the leader, _Captain,_ " Tony says through his teeth, and the only reason he doesn't choke at that last word is that he's gotten pretty good at compartmentalizing and drawing boundaries between Rogers' role within the team and the little he should mean to Tony. "It's not _my_ call. They’re the ones who choose, and they choose to follow you. It’s always been you. Nothing has changed in that respect."

It comes out a little cheesy, somehow. He wanted to make it sound as if they were idiots following an even bigger idiot, but Tony guesses he's far too angry to deliver the message with the right pitch. He can't be _icy_ like Rogers, who seems to have the emotional range of a cast-iron pan. It must be why his father liked him so much.

"Well then, glad to see you all in one piece. Laters," Tony says, and then he gets the fuck out of there. 

He climbs to an altitude high enough to see the sun shine above the clouds, and while flying with no one nearby to bother him seems to be just what he needs to relax, he accumulates quite a few air miles before his jaw even begins to unclench. In all honesty, he hates them. They are all stupid and underserving of even a modicum of courtesy. He doesn't know how someone with his intellect didn't know better than to consider them friends.

But God, they're _there._ They're back home. He finally _made_ it, and that makes him sigh in relief. The compound won't echo so badly anymore. Tony feels so foolishly _glad_ that he would sleep better tonight if only he could.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Miraculously, they don't screw up this time._

He makes himself scarce since day one, which is easy enough to do considering that Natasha does send Rogers to London while Tony settles for Tokyo as his base of operations, and although it's not exactly a vacation, it's still quite the breather.

"We could have used a couple of team-building exercises," Natasha says before she briefs him about the latest developments. It's two in the morning on this side of the world, but time zones don't mean anything when you can hardly sleep no matter where you are.

"You know we didn't have the time. Or the _inclination._ Hey, can you believe this? Canned coffee," Tony says, waving his drink in front of the screen. "Is this an amazing place of what? I'm among technology-minded workaholics who value caffeine enough to can it. Just my kind of people."

Natasha smiles as she finishes transferring all the relevant files. "How do you like it?"

"I don't think I can actually call it coffee, but I'm willing to let it go because _coffee in a can,_ " Tony says while he arranges the data in a sequence of tiles. "And don't get me started on the convenience stores. There are so many snacking options. I may never leave. Say, were you really a model here or was it just pretense?"

"What do you think?"

"I would like to think it's true because it sounds cool," he says absentmindedly. It's raining outside, and the one thing that keeps going through his head is that he hopes Rogers finds himself without an umbrella back in rainy London. "Okay, so you were saying that we suck as a team. I didn't see anything on the news, so _you_ tell me what's going on."

"Nothing _really_ happened, but—"

"Just shoot. How close were we to screwing things up?"

"Close _enough,_ " Natasha says with a frown. "Although in a much smaller scale, there wasn't another uncontrolled explosion by mere luck."

Hearing that makes Tony's blood go cold, but he doesn't let it show. "I'm going to need all the specifics. I want every single detail. I need an enhanced bird's-eye view of what went through second by second, frame by frame. Don't leave anything out, the line is secure."

"Alright, but don't go crazy."

"Who's going crazy? I just want the facts. _You_ relax about it. I'm cool as a cucumber."

"A rookie found a _device,_ by all accounts ready to go off. We didn't know for sure because all communications turned into a bedlam—there was no time to establish a perimeter. And there we are, out of sync, running out of time. Vision and Wanda managed to get everything under control at the last minute, however."

"Well, good for them, but I still want more details than that. This can't happen again," Tony says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And nobody reported on it. Really?"

Natasha nods. "Very little has been leaked to the press about the specifics of our counteroperation. Just enough to keep them happy."

"And I suppose you asked our dear leader for _guidance_ afterwards."

"Steve knows, yes," Natasha says. "Nothing new on that front, is there? He says he keeps trying to reach out to you."

"And he gets to interact with FRIDAY, who takes note of his messages and lets me choose which one to answer at my own discretion. I'm a busy man. I have to be in Beijing in a few hours, and then I have to follow a lead in Vladivostok."

"Get some rest in between, Tony."

He cracks a smile at that. "I'll get some rest when I'm dead."

.

" _Boss, a message from Captain Rogers,_ " FRIDAY says just as he's crossing the Sea of Japan.

"Another one? God, that man is tireless. What is he, a spam machine? Tell me it's about work this time, at the very least," Tony says, and he's glad no one can hear how miserable he sounds, how defeated. There are miles and miles between them, and he still feels like Rogers has the power to mess him up and there's nothing he can do to stop him.

" _It's 83.2% personal._ "

He _knew_ it. Fucking Rogers. "Filter that out and give me the 16.8% that _truly_ matters," Tony says, welcoming back his anger because that's the only layer of defense he has left. "Actually, you know what? Put him through if he's still there."

"Tony," he says before Tony is truly ready to deal with him. Rogers, on the other hand, almost sounds relieved to be able to talk to him, but Tony has no idea if his expression matches the inflection of his voice because he's not looking at him. It's a good thing that Tony is donning his suit, really, because it's easy to ignore him when there are a myriad of things far more worthy of his attention such as the vintage game he's playing on the side.

"Rogers, if it’s not about the mission, I don’t want to hear it. I already sent you the intel."

"Tony, I—" he starts again, and it's almost as though he knew no other word since he came back. _Tony, Tony, Tony._ Rogers should pay him royalties each time he says his name.

"Is this about the mission? No? Then _bye,_ " Tony says, ending the call. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, just enough so that he can put himself together, which is exactly the moment when he hears a ping and then—

" _There's another message from Captain Rogers._ "

Tony actually screams at that. "Don't tell me anymore! Just leave it somewhere on the screen where I can't actually see it."

" _Is this icon small enough for you?_ "

"Is that an envelope?" Tony asks, aghast at the fact that he has to be reminded of Rogers' stupid letter each time he sends a message. "Why is the icon an _envelope,_ FRIDAY?"

" _Right,_ " FRIDAY says before she changes it to a bell, and then, " _Maybe you would benefit from talking to him and getting things out in the open. I still keep a copy of the annotated Accords in case you want to use that as an icebreaker._ "

"Very funny. Say, you aren't getting cozy with Rogers, are you?" Tony asks, narrowing his eyes. "You better watch out before you get cooties. Out-of-date, pig-headed cooties, at that."

" _Would you like me to block his calls and messages instead?_ "

Tony considers that for a long while before saying, "How I _wish_ that was an option." And he does, really. Cutting contact with Rogers would do him a world of good, and unlike his self-imposed vow of silence when it comes to Pepper, it would be so terribly easy. If only so much didn't depend on him, maybe he could even walk away from all of it and disappear from the limelight.

" _Well, it_ is _an option,_ " FRIDAY says.

"You know what I mean." The success of this mission and the ones that are yet to come depends on the Avengers coming together, and if Tony were to let his feelings get in the way, if he were to act on his anger and refuse to compromise, then _he_ would be the one who would have succeeded in breaking up the team for good, and he's not about to destroy what cost him so much to get back. The only thing he can do is to resist Rogers whenever possible and cave in when it isn't.

" _And you also know what I mean. I can easily do that for you._ "

"Yeah, that won't be necessary," Tony says because he can handle this. Besides, his pain is his own. It doesn't have to impact anybody else. "Thank you, anyway."

" _Anytime, boss._ "

.

Miraculously, they don't screw up this time. Maybe it's because they are dispersed across the globe most of the time, only mingling for key operations. Maybe it's because the necessity of proving the world wrong about the Avengers being nothing but agents of chaos forces them to be more careful. Even the prodigal gang knows they must cooperate with law enforcement, not only to succeed in their missions but to reassure the public that they have nothing to fear from them, that they're under control.

"You aren't off the hook yet, so behave accordingly," he hears Natasha say in no uncertain terms over the intercom. "Keeping your head down for a while won't kill you."

"If you say so," Barton says.

"There are greater things at stake at the present moment. You have been called to protect others and it's your responsibility to answer to that calling."

" _Thank you,_ Your Highness," Tony says. "Far more eloquent than I could have ever put it. Now, don't break things, kids. You've already used your get-out-of-jail-free card, so _please_ be careful."

"Is that a threat?"

Tony is about to tell Barton that it's a _promise_ as far as many are concerned, but then Sam says, "Man, cut it out." Now, that's a surprise.

"We're supposed to be a team," Rogers says as if he actually meant it, and Tony turns off the mic on his side so that he can laugh at his heart's content. "Let's _act_ like one."

"The key word being _act,_ " Tony says openly because no one other than FRIDAY can hear him.

" _Boss?_ "

"Yes, I overrode everything ages ago," Tony says, closing his eyes for a second. "Go ahead and call it, FRIDAY."

" _Security systems disabled. Awaiting your orders, Captain Rogers._ "

There's a sigh, and then, in what amounts to a whisper, " _Tony._ " 

" _Royalties,_ " Tony mumbles to himself.

"All right, let's do it," Rogers says at last.

The raid ends up being more successful than their incursion into Strucker's base by virtue of no one getting seriously injured within the first ten minutes, with the record holding up even as a small device bounces off Tony's suit—

"Shit. Don't come any closer!" Tony shouts.

—only to go off and hurl him against one of the walls of a contiguous hallway right afterwards.

"Tony," Rogers says from one of the other rooms, sounding out of breath, "are you—"

"FRIDAY," Tony rasps and picks himself up, resuming the chase by way of a repulsor beam that blocks the bastards' way out.

" _Mr. Stark says he's fine, Captain Rogers._ "

"FRIDAY, tell your boss that this is getting ridiculous."

" _FRIDAY._ "

" _He feels strongly that it's not._ "

"Whoa, leave us out of your little tiff. Incoming, Cap," Barton says, and what follows is the blast of what is likely to be one of his explosive arrows and a continuous stream of gunfire that settles into a staccato rhythm as the minutes go by.

"I bet they didn't expect a guy in a bullet-proof cat costume."

" _Sam,_ " Rogers chides, fully in killjoy mode as per usual.

" _Boys,_ " Natasha cuts in, "look up."

"They're trying to escape through the roof. I'm on it," Sam says.

"Southwest entrance," Tony relays to the tactical team standing by outside so that they can pick up the trash, and then, to Sam, "I'll lend you a hand."

There's a handful of men on the rooftop, and then a couple trying to get away by fashioning themselves trapeze artists. "You got them?"

"Yeah, go get the others," Sam tells him just as he throws a roundhouse kick across the face of one of the men, knocking those that were standing behind him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Tony asks, catching one of them midair, disarming him, and then flying low enough to drop him like a gift at the police's feet. "FRIDAY?"

" _Apartment complex._ "

"Yup, just saw him go in through that window. Is the place clear?"

" _No civilians within the newly established perimeter, boss._ "

"Cool."

Once inside, he finds the man going down the stairs and occasionally turning back to shoot at him. "You're not going to escape, so how about you save us time and surrender?" Tony asks, getting his answer in the way of a hail of bullets. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

The man jumps off the railing and disappears into one of the floors. By the time Tony catches up with him, the apartment he picked as a hideout has begun to reek of gas, and what do you know, the man is pointing his gun at the stove's burner. _Great._ "I cranked it up good. Try something funny and we both blow up."

A _woman,_ not a man. "Now, calm down, don't do anything risky. I hear jails are top-notch these days, so you have nothing to worry about," Tony says, repulsors off and eyes quickly scanning the room. He focuses on a teddy bear left behind in a hurry, he works out the trajectory, and gives the toy a kick. Just as planned, it lands on her face, which buys him enough time to successfully wrestle the gun away from her.

"I told you, didn't I," Tony says, restraining her. "You would've saved us time if you had just surrendered."

The woman lets out a laugh. "Cut off one head—"

"Yeah, yeah, save it. I know how the rest of it goes," Tony says, trying to ignore the way his heart goes the extra mile. He won't feel the thrashing from early in all its extent just yet—he's pumped with adrenaline. Even his fingertips seem to throb as he turns off the stove.

Just like her buddy, he ends up giving her a ride, then turns her in. "All yours, officer. Gas leak four floors up, by the way. It's under control, but you might still want to check up on that."

"Mr. Stark," the officer says by way of acknowledgment.

Just as he's walking away, he hears how the woman puts up a fight. "You're not going to get anything from me! That's right, nothing!" She pulls the gun of one of the policemen from its holster—she's fast, _so_ fast—and aims at Tony.

"Hey, you won't even nick the—"

"Others will take our place," the woman says with certainty before she opens fire. The bullets ricochet off the surface of his suit and strike her. She's a goner scarce seconds after she hits the ground, as FRIDAY confirms for him.

The officer at his side scoffs. "That was stupid."

"No," Tony says, his eyes fixed on her, "that's exactly what she intended."

"Tony? All loose ends tied up on your side?" Natasha asks over the intercom.

"You could say that," he answers straight away, but his mind is elsewhere. It should be the end of it, but for some reason it doesn't _feel_ like it. Not everything can end on a grand, larger-than-life note, though. He knows that. In fact, they should thank their lucky stars that whatever damage they caused during their whole tour has been minimal, both in terms of their impact on civilian lives and infrastructure. Really, he's quite pleased. Under the framework of the Accords, their line of work can no longer be all about risky business and fast-paced action like before, at least as far as _earthly_ threats are concerned. God, but that's not it. That's not what's bothering him. Then, _what_ is it?

"Something wrong?"

"Not at all," Tony says at once. "So, hey, I'm kinda used to things being more of a big deal instead of tame, so I may be off here, but is it me or did we just prevent the world from going down in flames, one mission at a time?"

"Yes." Somehow, she sounds the gladdest he's ever heard her. "Yes, we _did._ "

.

"And now?" Natasha says, turning off the news. They have been mostly singing their praises ever since the plot they stopped went public, and it's funny to think that it was only yesterday that they were the scourge of the Earth.

"And now we hope _that_ lasts enough to give us a break, because God, do we need it," Tony says, jerking his thumb behind his shoulder to point at the TV. "Still, Legal is already going through the hot mess—"

"I'm out of here," Barton says, dropping his duffel bag on the floor for effect.

Tony holds back a sigh and tries really hard not to roll his eyes. "Barton—"

"What, did you think you were owed our eternal gratitude for flying us here? It was Cap who took us out of there."

"Clint—" Rogers starts.

"No, Cap, stay out of it. It was T'Challa who gave us shelter, Stark. What did you do? You only called us when the fighting got too rough for you to handle," Barton says, and Tony doesn't know whether to punch him or whether to laugh in his face. He has plenty of biting comebacks ready, but he's so fucking tired of fielding shit like this all the time that he doesn't say anything at all and lets him have it.

"Clint, that's incredibly unfair," Natasha says.

"I'm sick of your antics. I won't ever be thankful to you for almost succeeding in leaving my kids without a father," Barton says, and although Tony would like to think that by now nothing can get to him anymore, this one _stings._ The last thing he would ever want is for Barton's kids to experience what he did. 

"Clint, you don't _know_ what you're saying," Rogers says, and Tony wishes he hadn't spoken at all because having him on his side feels _unnatural_ at this point.

"No, I am. Don't count on my return," Barton says before he turns on his heel and goes.

"He'll return," Natasha says, squeezing Tony's arm to reassure him.

"Well, he'll _have_ to," Tony says in a small voice. "Doesn't he know what _temporary_ amnesty means? God, what an idiot."

"Tony," Rogers says, shifting his whole attention to him. _Great,_ just what he needed.

"FRIDAY, someone wants to talk to you," Tony says tiredly before he leaves the room, but this is Rogers. The bastard isn't going to let things be, is he?

"Tony, Clint wouldn't speak like that if he knew _everything,_ " Rogers says, and although his tone means to be conciliatory, all that Tony can think of is that he must be enjoying this—hounding him, breathing down his neck, putting him in a corner without ever giving him an out. Tony doesn't have his suit, so he's out of luck this time. "I should have—"

"Or maybe he would think I finally got what I deserved," Tony cuts in, trying to keep his voice level. "Is that what _you_ thought?"

"I would have never—" Rogers starts.

"Enough is enough. What the _fuck_ do you want?" Tony snaps, turning to face him. His voice is faltering and he feels like he's breaking, but he forces himself to look at Rogers, who looks so fucking real it almost takes his breath away. He _is_ real, not a rendering from BARF. He's real and Tony has so many questions dancing on his mind, but he can't do this right now. There's nothing the real Rogers can give him that can possibly appease him. Not now, at the very least.

"Tony—"

"I have known you for, what, a couple of years?" God, it's a lie. He has lived all his life under Captain America's shadow. He has known him all his life. "You had _no_ right to keep that from me!" Tony cries out, and it's a wonder he can speak when he feels like he's imploding. Rogers had no right to hurt him in a way that felt so cold, so calculating, so _intimate._ Leave that to Obie, leave that to someone who's known him since forever. "You heard that, Rogers? You had no right. You might have been friends with my father, but what are you of me? You're _nothing._ He was only your pal, your wartime buddy. He was _my_ father. Did you think you had a bigger piece of him than I did? Well, maybe you did." Scratch that, Tony's pretty sure he still does.

"Tony, I'm sorry." Something that looks like pain flashes on Rogers' face, but he has no right to play the victim here. He has no fucking right at all.

"Barnes had his mind controlled by HYDRA!" Tony snarls. "What's _your_ excuse?"

Rogers is left silent after that, and Tony gets to walk away from him, _finally._ He holes himself up in his lab and loses himself in schematics, tridimensional models, prototypes. There are echoes of the future in all of his designs because this is who he is at his core, someone who looks onward instead of behind him, and as such, he has plenty of work pending. There are many plans he needs to reassess and fine-tune because his margin of error has gone up. It has become unacceptable. After all, he failed to recognize the path that led to Siberia, from Rogers' secrets to Zemo's set-up. He didn't see any of it coming. What else is he missing?

The known variables are there. Otherworldly threats, and back on Earth, a menace that recurs across time and grows at an exponential rate. He's the one who has to take all of that into account. There's no one else. So much depends on him and it shouldn't. And he has to plan for all contingencies, including that of his absence. It's the rational thing to do. He never thought his parents would be there one day and not the next, not so suddenly, not in that way, yet it happened nonetheless. 

He figured his dad still had a few good years left in him and that, if anything, he would defy death if that meant he got to make Tony's life impossible. The likelihood of his dad growing mellow with age was close to zero, but who knows, maybe they could have reached a détente, given enough time. And his mom, good God, Tony was so sure she would outlive her dad by far. In his mind's eye, he saw her well into her golden years, her voice as sweet as it used to be when she was young and her fingers still nimble as she played many a melody by heart. He thought he would have her by his side for a long time, but he was wrong. God, he was so wrong. 

If he's gone. It's not morbid to think about it, but perfectly logical. He's had multiple brushes with death. One day he's going to run out of luck. But luck doesn't exist, there are only events that occur at random and he has to plan for each and every one of them. _When_ he's gone.

And what if he comes out of all of this in one piece? It's strange to think that if nothing kills him first, the time will come when he'll be older than his mom when she died. How _crazy_ is that? He'll be around for longer than she was _alive,_ and the sole thought feels like an abomination. He doesn't deserve it. It would have made more sense for him to go first. He could have easily appeared on the obituary section of all the major newspapers instead of his parents. He was reckless enough when he was young. Hell, he's reckless about his own safety even now. Pepper hated that.

"FRIDAY, initialize the BARF protocol for me," Tony says, true to form.

There's a pause, and then, " _Yes, boss._ "

Maybe this is who he is at his core, too. A reckless bastard.

Some things never change.


End file.
